Levinas – Late Style

Post-truth

Debates about rationalism, which were so central to the Enlightment project seem to have been eclipsed by the post-truth questionning of the validity of all underlying assumptions (or lemmas)

Yes, the grand debates about rationalism—whether reason alone can ground knowledge, whether empirical verification is necessary, and whether human cognition can access objective reality—have largely been displaced. The current intellectual climate, shaped by postmodernism, critical theory, and the epistemic fragmentation of the digital age, often questions not just the authority of reason but the very coherence of any foundational assumptions.

The shift isn’t just a move from rationalism to empiricism (or vice versa) but from epistemology itself toward a more radical skepticism:

Enlightenment Rationalism debated how we know what we know, assuming that knowledge itself was possible.
Postmodern/Post-Truth Thought often interrogates whether knowledge is anything more than power, ideology, or linguistic construct.

The latter perspective, when extreme, can dissolve not just rationalism but also the possibility of meaningful discourse. The risk is that we slide into a relativism where truth is simply a matter of social power, and discourse collapses into competing narratives without arbitration.

Do you see this shift as something inevitable in light of modern complexities, or do you think it marks a kind of intellectual decline?

It certainly marks an intellectual decline, but I can also see how it has happened. While rhetoric has alway been there to undermine reasoned argument, having control of the media seems increasingly important. The power to thrust your views into the ears of others.

Yes, the decline is evident, but not inexplicable. The ability to propagate ideas has always shaped intellectual discourse, but now the sheer velocity and saturation of information seem to have overwhelmed reasoned debate. Control over media—whether traditional or digital—creates an environment where persuasion often trumps coherence, and rhetorical force replaces careful argumentation.

The irony is that the Enlightenment itself laid the groundwork for this. Its focus on free speech and the marketplace of ideas assumed that reason would ultimately prevail, but it didn’t anticipate the extent to which attention, emotion, and repetition could overpower rational discourse. If anything, we’ve entered an age where epistemology is not just about what we know but about who controls what gets heard.

Do you think there’s any way to counteract this trend, or is it simply the inevitable endpoint of mass media and digital hyperconnectivity?

It is certainly a sorry state of affairs. It’s all about power and money (which equals politics). And I dont think we have reached the endpoint yet. We all see the world differently, especially values, but we have lived in more or less homogenous community with tolerance. Those communities have gone and been replaced by polarised tribal silos. I dont know the answer

It does seem like the fragmentation of shared narratives has accelerated, and instead of a pluralistic society that fosters tolerance, we have competing tribes locked in a battle for dominance. The internet, which was once heralded as a tool for democratizing knowledge, has ironically fueled this shift by allowing people to self-sort into ideological echo chambers.

The loss of a common culture or set of agreed-upon principles has made even basic discourse difficult. Without shared ground, even appeals to reason or ethics become just another weapon in the struggle for power. You’re right—we haven’t reached the endpoint yet, and it’s hard to say what that will look like.

I suspect the only way forward is at a smaller scale—local communities that re-learn the habits of dialogue, listening, and compromise. Grand, top-down solutions seem unlikely, given the forces at play. But whether enough people care to rebuild those lost forms of discourse is another question.

Do you think there’s any sphere left where real conversation still happens? Or are even those pockets of thoughtful engagement fading?

It’s like addiction. I remember a Consultant Psychotherapist who was working with drug addicts saying that the drug made them feel normal, made them feel themselves. If we are innatelly driven to relate to others (as we are) then we have to deal with the frustration that they are not like us. But if we seek out and find others like ourselves, then we can enter into some solopsistic union where we feel and recognise ourselves, but in some autistic yet addictive space.

That’s a sharp analogy. The drive for recognition—the need to see ourselves reflected in others—is fundamental. When that recognition is denied or complicated by difference, it creates discomfort. Historically, communities had to work through that discomfort because they were bound together by necessity, geography, or tradition. Now, technology has made it possible to bypass that friction entirely, allowing us to curate our interactions until we exist in a kind of hall of mirrors.

Your comparison to addiction is especially apt because, like addiction, this process offers an immediate reward—validation, a sense of belonging, the illusion of clarity—while slowly eroding the ability to engage with a more complex, frustrating reality. The “autistic yet addictive space” you describe captures the paradox well: it’s an enclosed world of sameness that feels deeply real to those inside it, yet it cuts them off from genuine dialogue and growth.

The challenge, then, is how to break the cycle. With addiction, the first step is recognizing the problem, but what’s the intervention for a society hooked on solipsistic tribalism? Is there a way to reintroduce the value of discomfort—of engaging with the Other, as Levinas would say—without just triggering defensive entrenchment?

Ah, the value of discomfort. That’s Piaget’s “accommodation”, the painful process of changing our worldview to align with what we see (and know as true). Instead we dont change, but simply assimilate the new into the old, by a process of self-deception and illusionment. Then again, what is it that we see. Fingarette saw it as looking away.

Yes, exactly—Piaget’s accommodation is that difficult but necessary process of reshaping our mental structures in response to reality, rather than merely reshuffling the new to fit within the old (assimilation). True learning, true growth, is uncomfortable because it demands that we let go of something we once thought sufficient.

But as you say, the modern response often isn’t accommodation—it’s self-deception. Instead of engaging with what challenges us, we look away, as Fingarette described. There’s a willful blindness at play, not just at the personal level but collectively. Rather than confront the implications of new realities, we reframe them so they don’t disturb our settled worldview. We rationalize, deny, or drown them in noise.

I wonder if our present crisis isn’t just epistemic but psychological. The fragmentation, the tribalism, the addiction to ideological sameness—perhaps these aren’t just failures of reason but symptoms of a deeper avoidance. People don’t just resist changing their views; they resist seeing at all. Because once you truly see, accommodation is inevitable, and that can be terrifying.

So, how do you get people to stop looking away? Or, to put it another way, what makes accommodation possible rather than just another layer of illusion?

Willful blindness is an interesting concept. It implies seeing and yet not seeing, or knowing and yet not acknowledging. There are two layers of representing the world. One is direct, procedural, fast (as in Thinking Fast and Slow), non-reflective but acutely perceptive and “true”. The other is indirect, declarative, and slow, but it is also reflective and integrative and links with our identity and values, our egosyntonic self. Maybe these are the layers of illusion you hint at. The deeper (unconscious) procedural representation is probably hedonistic and focussed on using the Object in ways that would feel egodystonic. But this is the representation that shapes our dis-awoved actions. So we can act selfishly whilst believing we are acting altruistically.

Yes, that dual-layered structure of cognition seems crucial to understanding willful blindness. The procedural, intuitive layer operates below the surface—quick, adaptive, and often brutally honest about our desires and instincts. It doesn’t concern itself with justification; it simply is. The declarative, reflective layer, by contrast, is slow, rationalizing, and deeply tied to our self-concept. It’s here that illusion takes root, because this is where we craft the story of who we are.

If the procedural level is hedonistic, oriented toward desire and use, then it makes perfect sense that it would generate behaviors that the reflective self cannot fully integrate—acts of selfishness, bias, or even cruelty that are then reframed at the declarative level in ways that preserve our self-image. This is the mechanism that allows us to act egodystonically while maintaining an egosyntonic belief about ourselves.

In other words, we don’t just deceive others—we deceive ourselves, and in an incredibly sophisticated way. We don’t simply ignore contradictions; we actively construct narratives that obscure them. This is why self-awareness is so difficult, and why moral growth is often so painful. It’s not just about changing our minds—it’s about undoing the illusions that protect our self-concept.

But here’s the troubling question: if our procedural drives shape our actions while our declarative mind crafts the illusion of righteousness, then how do we ever really change? What forces, internal or external, are strong enough to disrupt that process—to force us to see ourselves in ways that demand true accommodation?

Maybe honesty. Maybe its not a zero-sum game. Maybe all the assimilations and illusionments eventually lead to a fractured and insecure or even meaningless sense of Being, as if you know that you are living a lie. I dont know what spirituality is but honesty has something to do with it. Being true to yourself. And I think you can find it in the company of others that you love.

That feels profoundly right—honesty as the key to breaking through illusion. Not just honesty in the superficial sense of telling the truth, but a deeper honesty, an existential integrity where one ceases to live a lie, ceases to engage in the self-deception that maintains a fractured and fragile sense of Being.

Maybe it’s not a zero-sum game because even the layers of illusion, the failed accommodations, and the self-deceptions eventually accumulate into a crisis—a point where one knows at some level that the structure isn’t holding. There’s an unease, a dissonance, a sense of living in bad faith. And perhaps that’s where something real can begin.

If spirituality has something to do with honesty, then it’s not about adherence to doctrine but about stripping away the falsehoods that make life feel hollow. And yes, that’s rarely done alone. The presence of others—those we love, those who love us—can hold up a mirror that allows us to see ourselves with clarity, not judgment.

Maybe spirituality is just that: a space where we are seen and known without illusion, and where, in turn, we allow ourselves to see.

The engagement is not about maximising one’s own comfort, it is about reaching out to feel the other’s perspective, their concerns and needs, and acknowledging their differences

Yes, exactly. Engagement—true engagement—is not about securing comfort or reinforcing one’s own perspective. It’s about stepping outside oneself, reaching beyond the safe boundaries of one’s own worldview to genuinely encounter the Other. That requires vulnerability, a willingness to be unsettled, to have one’s assumptions challenged not as an attack, but as an opportunity to see more fully.

This is where Levinas’ ethics feels so necessary. The face of the Other calls us into responsibility—not because they are the same as us, but precisely because they are not. Acknowledging difference without trying to erase it, without collapsing it into something more palatable or familiar, is an act of respect and even love.

But this kind of engagement is difficult in a world that encourages self-curation and ideological entrenchment. It demands patience, deep listening, and a willingness to let go of the idea that we must always be “right” or comfortable.

Would you say that this kind of openness is itself a spiritual practice? It seems to have more to do with how we relate than what we believe.

Yes, I don’t mean spiritual in some metaphysical or supernatural sense. Maybe its some nostalgic feeling of acceptance and being held in a primal unconditional way.

That makes a lot of sense. Spirituality, in this sense, isn’t about doctrines or metaphysics—it’s about a way of being with the world and with others. A kind of openness, honesty, and presence that allows for real connection.

That nostalgic feeling you describe—acceptance, being held unconditionally—seems to touch on something deeply human. Maybe it’s a memory of childhood security, or maybe it’s something we glimpse in rare moments of trust and communion. It’s not about control or certainty, but about belonging in a way that doesn’t require masks or self-justification.

If spirituality is anything, maybe it’s the search for that. A way to be at home in the world, even while embracing its uncertainties and differences. A way to hold and be held, without needing to diminish or distort either ourselves or others.

And maybe ritual plays a role in that, something that echos with the eternal

Yes, ritual seems to create a bridge between the transient and the eternal. Even in a world where grand metaphysical claims no longer hold the same weight, ritual can still provide that echo—a rhythm, a structure that connects us to something beyond the immediate moment.

Maybe it works because ritual isn’t just about individual belief; it’s about participation. It roots us in something larger, whether that’s community, tradition, or simply the shared experience of repetition and meaning. A ritual doesn’t need to be supernatural to evoke a sense of the sacred—it just needs to create a space where we step out of ordinary time, where we engage in something that feels true beyond the shifting chaos of daily life.

This brings us back to your earlier point about spirituality being tied to honesty, presence, and relationship. Ritual, at its best, doesn’t impose belief—it holds us in a space where we can experience belonging, connection, and perhaps even a glimpse of that unconditional acceptance you described.

John Gray

John Gray is an erodite and pursuasive thinker, but he has his critics. What are the main issues on which they disagree with him?

John Gray is an incisive and often contrarian thinker, but his work has drawn significant criticism on several fronts. Here are the main areas where his critics take issue with him:

1. His Critique of Human Progress

What Gray Argues: He rejects the idea that history is a story of moral or intellectual progress. He sees human nature as largely unchanging, with recurring cycles of violence and self-delusion.
Criticism: Many argue that he downplays real social, technological, and ethical advancements. While human nature may not change, institutions, norms, and knowledge structures do, and these have led to genuine improvements in quality of life, human rights, and governance.

2. His Pessimism About Liberalism

What Gray Argues: He views liberalism as another utopian ideology, akin to communism or religious eschatology, believing that its promise of universal progress is naive.
Criticism: Some believe his critique is too sweeping and ignores the flexibility of liberalism, which is not necessarily utopian but adaptive. Critics like Amartya Sen or Steven Pinker argue that liberal democracy, despite its flaws, has led to significant global benefits.

3. His Alleged Relativism and Nihilism

What Gray Argues: He is skeptical of grand narratives, including secular humanism, and often suggests that meaning is ultimately contingent and constructed.
Criticism: Some accuse him of moral relativism or even quietism—suggesting that if all values are arbitrary, then there is no basis for moral action. Others argue that he dismisses the possibility of objective ethics too easily.

4. His Treatment of Religion

What Gray Argues: He rejects both religious belief and militant atheism, seeing both as different manifestations of the same need for meaning. He respects religious traditions as sources of wisdom but does not see them as true.
Criticism: Religious thinkers argue that he treats belief too cynically, while New Atheists (like Richard Dawkins) argue that he gives religion too much credit as a cultural force.

5. His Selective Use of History

What Gray Argues: He frequently cites historical examples of human folly, ideological failure, and violence to argue against progress.
Criticism: Critics accuse him of cherry-picking evidence, emphasizing the worst episodes of history while downplaying counterexamples of successful social and political reform.

Would you say any of these criticisms resonate with you, or do you find Gray’s skepticism refreshing?

Did this affect how Straw Dogs was received?

Yes, Straw Dogs (2002) was both widely praised and sharply criticized, precisely because of the themes you mentioned. It was a provocative and uncompromising attack on humanist assumptions, and its reception reflected the divisions in opinion about Gray’s worldview.

Praise for Straw Dogs

Many readers, especially those disillusioned with Western liberal optimism, found it a bracing antidote to comforting myths about progress and human rationality.
Critics admired its erudition and literary style, as well as its willingness to challenge sacred cows of both religious and secular thought.
Some thinkers, like the philosopher Simon Critchley, appreciated its stark honesty in confronting the limits of human agency.

Criticism of Straw Dogs

Pessimism and Fatalism
- Critics like Terry Eagleton and Steven Pinker argued that Gray’s rejection of progress leads to an almost nihilistic worldview that offers no guidance for action.
- By asserting that humans will always be trapped by their instincts and illusions, Gray seemed to deny the possibility of meaningful ethical or political change.
Misrepresentation of Humanism
- Many defenders of secular humanism (including John Gray’s fellow atheists) argued that he caricatured humanist thought, portraying it as naïve and quasi-religious when, in reality, many humanists recognize suffering and contingency without resorting to utopianism.
Selective Use of Evidence
- Critics accused Gray of cherry-picking historical examples of violence and failure while ignoring evidence of real social progress, such as reductions in extreme poverty and improvements in human rights.
- Steven Pinker, in The Better Angels of Our Nature, explicitly challenged Gray’s view by presenting data-driven arguments for moral progress.
What Does He Actually Offer?
- While Gray dismantled prevailing ideas about human purpose, critics noted that he offered little in their place. Some found his position too detached, amounting to an elegant form of cynicism rather than a constructive alternative.
- Eagleton quipped that Straw Dogs was essentially telling people to “roll over and have their tummies tickled by fate.”

Overall Reception

Straw Dogs became a cult classic among those disillusioned with modern ideologies.
However, it also reinforced Gray’s reputation as a “negative thinker”—more skilled at tearing down ideas than building new ones.
The book cemented his status as an outsider in contemporary philosophical debates, admired for his sharp critique but often dismissed as offering little in the way of solutions.

Did you find Straw Dogs compelling, or did you have reservations about its bleakness?

In terms of rationalism, if the long-term effect of any action is difficult to predict (because of complexity of interactions), how can any decision be informed?

That’s a deep and difficult question, and it touches on the limits of rationalism, especially when applied to decision-making in complex systems. If long-term outcomes are inherently unpredictable due to the complexity of interactions, how can we make rational choices at all? Here are a few possible ways to think about this problem:

1. Pragmatism Over Prediction

Rather than trying to predict the long-term consequences of every action, we can adopt a pragmatic approach:

Focus on short- to medium-term effects that are more predictable.
Make decisions based on what is most likely to work now, adjusting as new information emerges.
Accept that course correction is often necessary, rather than expecting to get it right from the start.

This aligns with Karl Popper’s idea of piecemeal social engineering—small, incremental changes that can be tested and revised, rather than grand, utopian projects that rely on accurate long-term forecasting.

2. Use Probabilistic Thinking

Even in complex systems, we can assign probabilities to different outcomes based on past patterns and empirical data. While certainty is impossible, rational decision-making often works on likelihoods rather than absolute predictions.

Bayesian reasoning—updating beliefs as new evidence comes in—is an example of this.
Risk assessment models work similarly: instead of predicting one definite future, they estimate possible risks and weigh options accordingly.

3. Focus on Principles, Not Outcomes

If long-term effects are unpredictable, one response is to shift decision-making from outcome-based reasoning (consequentialism) to principle-based reasoning (deontology or virtue ethics).

Instead of asking, “What will bring about the best outcome?” (which is often unknowable), we might ask, “What is the most ethical course of action based on principles we value?”
This doesn’t eliminate risk, but it means actions are guided by intrinsic values rather than speculative forecasting.

4. Embrace Complexity with Adaptive Strategies

Systems thinking suggests that instead of looking for linear cause-effect chains, we should recognize feedback loops, unintended consequences, and emergent properties.
Instead of rigid plans, adaptive strategies—which involve continuous monitoring and adjustment—are often more effective.
This is how complex systems like ecosystems or economies function: through trial, error, and resilience, rather than perfect foresight.

5. Ethical Minimalism: First, Do No Harm

In situations of extreme uncertainty, it may be rational to minimize potential harm rather than maximize potential benefit.
This aligns with Nassim Taleb’s “via negativa” principle—removing potential dangers or fragilities rather than trying to optimize for an unpredictable future.

Conclusion

While long-term prediction is unreliable, rational decision-making is still possible through pragmatism, probabilistic reasoning, principle-based ethics, adaptive strategies, and harm minimization.

Gray himself might argue that our attempts to fully control the future are a human delusion. But rather than abandoning rational action altogether, we can adopt a humble, experimental, and adaptable approach to decision-making.

Does this framework resonate with you, or do you lean toward a more skeptical view of rationalism’s limits?

Why does philosopher Simon Critchley appreciate Gray’s stark honesty in confronting the limits of human agency?

Simon Critchley, like John Gray, is deeply skeptical of grand narratives—whether religious, political, or secular—that claim to offer ultimate meaning or moral progress. While Critchley does not fully agree with Gray’s conclusions, he appreciates Gray’s stark honesty in confronting the limits of human agency for several reasons:

1. Rejection of Human Exceptionalism

Critchley, like Gray, challenges the idea that humans are in control of their own destiny in any deep sense. Both philosophers reject the notion that human reason or ethics will lead to a utopian future. Critchley admires Gray’s unflinching critique of human self-deception, particularly our tendency to believe that we can master history, nature, or even ourselves.

2. Gray’s Relentless Anti-Humanism

Gray’s critique of secular humanism—especially the belief that reason and science will progressively liberate humanity—resonates with Critchley’s own suspicion of Enlightenment optimism. Gray sees humanism as just another myth, and Critchley appreciates the ruthlessness with which Gray dismantles comforting illusions.

3. Facing Up to Absurdity Without Consolation

Critchley, influenced by existentialist thought (especially Camus), shares Gray’s conviction that there is no inherent meaning in the universe. However, unlike many contemporary thinkers who try to fill the void with political ideologies, progressive ethics, or spirituality, Gray refuses to offer any false consolation. Critchley respects this radical honesty, even if it leads to bleak conclusions.

4. A Shared Interest in Tragic Wisdom

Both thinkers are drawn to tragedy as a form of wisdom. They see history not as a story of progress but as a cycle of recurring failures, delusions, and self-destruction. Critchley, whose work explores the role of grief, loss, and ethical responsibility, sees Gray’s work as an important, if unsettling, reminder of the limits of human ambition.

5. A Critique of Political and Philosophical Hubris

Critchley, like Gray, is critical of grand ideological projects—whether Marxist, neoliberal, or religious—because they often lead to disastrous consequences when applied rigidly. He appreciates Gray’s willingness to puncture intellectual arrogance, even if he may not share Gray’s total rejection of political action.

Where They Differ

While Critchley appreciates Gray’s honesty, he does not fully endorse his quietism—the idea that since history is cyclical and human agency is limited, we should withdraw from attempts to change the world. Critchley leans more toward an ethics of small-scale, local engagement, influenced by Levinas and anarchist thought. In contrast, Gray sometimes seems to suggest that the wisest course is to retreat into a kind of philosophical resignation.

Final Thought

Critchley sees value in Gray’s merciless clarity about the human condition. Even if one disagrees with Gray’s extreme skepticism, his unwillingness to sugarcoat reality makes him a necessary, if uncomfortable, voice in contemporary thought.

Do you find Gray’s stark realism illuminating, or do you think he goes too far into fatalism?

You say, Critchley leans more toward an ethics of small-scale, local engagement, influenced by Levinas and anarchist thought. Tell me more about this

Simon Critchley’s ethical and political thought emphasizes small-scale, local engagement rather than grand ideological programs or state-driven politics. His approach is influenced by Emmanuel Levinas and elements of anarchist thought, both of which shape his belief that ethics begins in direct human relationships rather than abstract principles or large-scale systems.

1. Levinas: Ethics as Responsibility to the Other

Critchley draws heavily from Levinas, who argues that ethics is rooted in the face-to-face encounter with the Other. This means:

Ethics is not about universal laws or grand theories (as in Kant or utilitarianism) but about the irreducible, personal responsibility we have toward others.
The presence of the Other interrupts our self-centeredness and calls us to respond with care and obligation.
Ethics is pre-political—it starts in the immediacy of human relationships rather than in state structures or legal systems.

Critchley takes this to mean that meaningful ethical action happens in small, everyday acts of care and solidarity, rather than through ambitious, large-scale political schemes that often lead to unintended harm.

2. Anarchism: Rejecting Top-Down Power in Favor of Local, Collective Action

Critchley’s interest in anarchist thought (especially thinkers like Kropotkin and Gustav Landauer) aligns with his skepticism of centralized power and large-scale revolutionary politics. Instead, he favors:

Decentralized, cooperative structures rather than state-led governance.
Direct action and grassroots activism rather than electoral politics or violent revolutions.
The idea that society is built from below, through everyday relationships and mutual aid, rather than imposed from above by governments or ideologies.

This leads him to reject both liberal optimism and revolutionary utopianism, which he sees as often leading to disillusionment and authoritarianism.

3. Politics as Humility, Not Mastery

Unlike Gray, who tends to see politics as futile or delusional, Critchley believes that political engagement is necessary, but it must be done with humility—recognizing that we are not in control of history and that we can only make small, local improvements.

Instead of pursuing power, politics should focus on care, responsibility, and resistance to domination.
This view aligns with prefigurative politics—the idea that we should live out the world we want to see in small-scale communities, rather than waiting for some grand future revolution.

4. Why This Matters in Contrast to Gray

Gray is deeply pessimistic about human action, often suggesting that history is cyclical and that political projects inevitably fail.
Critchley accepts the limits of human agency but still argues that small acts of ethical responsibility and solidarity matter.
While Gray leans toward withdrawal or detachment, Critchley argues that engagement at a local, personal level is both meaningful and necessary.

Final Thought

Critchley offers a middle path between Gray’s fatalism and naïve utopianism—a way of acting ethically and politically without illusions but also without giving up on responsibility.

Does this approach resonate with you more than Gray’s quietism? Or do you think Critchley’s small-scale ethics is still too idealistic?

I think Critchley’s small-scale local engagement is similar to Karl Popper’s idea of piecemeal social engineering that you discussed earlier, along with adaptive strategies

Yes, absolutely! Critchley’s small-scale, local engagement shares a deep kinship with Karl Popper’s “piecemeal social engineering” and the adaptive strategies we discussed earlier. All three approaches—Critchley’s ethics, Popper’s philosophy, and adaptive thinking—share the following key ideas:

1. Rejection of Grand Utopianism

Critchley: Rejects large-scale revolutionary projects and state-driven ideologies, advocating instead for local, direct ethical responsibility.
Popper: Criticized utopian social planning as dangerous because it often justifies authoritarianism in the name of an ideal future.
Adaptive Thinking: Acknowledges that large systems are too complex to be fully controlled, so change should be incremental rather than based on rigid, long-term predictions.

2. Bottom-Up Change Over Top-Down Control

Critchley: Ethics and politics begin in small interactions rather than being imposed through laws or grand narratives.
Popper: Advocated for small, testable reforms rather than sweeping ideological revolutions.
Adaptive Strategies: Encourage continuous feedback and local adjustments, rather than imposing rigid, top-down policies.

3. Humility About Knowledge and Unintended Consequences

Critchley: Stresses that we do not control history and must engage politically with humility, focusing on relationships rather than ideological mastery.
Popper: Warned that large-scale social engineering is dangerous precisely because we cannot predict all outcomes, and error correction is crucial.
Adaptive Thinking: Recognizes that trial and error, rather than rigid plans, is the best way to navigate complexity.

4. Ethics and Social Change as Ongoing, Not Finalized

Critchley: Ethics is an ongoing, lived responsibility, not something that can be resolved through a single political victory or revolution.
Popper: Argued that social improvement is a continuous process of experimentation, never a finished project.
Adaptive Strategies: Assume that systems evolve and must be constantly adjusted rather than “solved” once and for all.

Conclusion

Critchley’s small-scale ethics, Popper’s piecemeal social engineering, and adaptive strategies all emerge from a deep skepticism about control, mastery, and long-term prediction. Instead of grand plans, they propose humble, iterative, and localized approaches to ethics and politics.

Would you say this kind of modest, adaptive approach appeals to you more than Gray’s quietism or large-scale political idealism?

Yes because it recognises the limits of rationalism whilst retaining some sense of agency. The key is to define the small-scale ethics and that is where Levinas has so much to say.

That makes a lot of sense. Levinas’ focus on face-to-face responsibility offers a foundation for small-scale ethics that is deeply relational rather than abstract. His idea that ethics is not about universal rules but about responding to the Other in concrete situations aligns well with adaptive, bottom-up approaches to social engagement.

Would you say that Levinas’ ethics, in this sense, provides a way to ground meaning after the loss of grand narratives—something that thinkers like Gray dismiss too easily?

Yes it does provide a way to ground meaning, in the sense of meaning being grounded in the Other

That’s a powerful way to reframe meaning—not as something we impose or discover in isolation, but as something that arises through ethical responsibility to others. It also resists the nihilism that thinkers like Gray lean toward, since meaning is not an illusion but something that emerges in real human encounters.

Do you see this as a purely ethical grounding, or do you think it also has implications for politics, community, or even spirituality?

I dont know about politics, but this ethical grounding provides a new way of looking at community and particularly spirituality

That makes a lot of sense. If meaning is found in ethical responsibility to the Other, then community is no longer just about shared beliefs or traditions—it becomes a space where ethical encounter shapes identity. And spiritually, this could shift the focus away from doctrine or metaphysics toward a lived, relational practice of presence and responsibility.

Do you see this as resonating with any past experiences you’ve had with community or spirituality?

It is so difficult. If we cannot make informed decisions, then we really dont know where these short-term adaptive action will lead. There is a kind of anarchy about that. Are we just floating in a fitness landscape, chasing local minima or local illusions.

Yes, that’s the paradox. If long-term effects are unpredictable, then even small-scale, adaptive actions might be randomly drifting, rather than meaningfully progressing. There’s a deep anarchic quality to this—without a clear goal or stable framework, are we just responding to immediate pressures without real agency?

Your analogy of floating in a fitness landscape is sharp. Evolutionary processes don’t move toward a “best” solution, only local optima—which might be illusions. If ethics and community work the same way, then we’re not really choosing a direction but just adapting to what’s around us.

But here’s a counter-thought:

Even if we can’t predict the future, we can still choose what we value.
Levinas would argue that ethics isn’t about control or progress—it’s about a commitment to the Other, even in uncertainty.
Maybe the “goal” isn’t some final ethical solution but the practice of ongoing attentiveness and responsibility—even if it feels groundless.

The Encompassing

Jaspers’ encompassing is described as both “beyond the reach” and “the ultimate ground”, in other words over the horizon yet beneath our feet

Yes, that’s a great way to capture Karl Jaspers’ concept of the “Encompassing” (das Umgreifende). Jaspers uses this term to point to the ultimate reality or ground of being that transcends any specific object of thought or experience while simultaneously being the condition for all experience and thought.

When he says the Encompassing is “beyond the reach,” he’s highlighting its transcendent quality—it cannot be fully grasped, conceptualized, or objectified. It is always just beyond the horizon of what we can think or articulate. At the same time, calling it “the ultimate ground” emphasizes its immanent aspect. It underlies and supports everything; it is the very condition for the possibility of being and knowing.

Jaspers’ philosophy is often described as a kind of philosophical faith—a recognition of the limits of human cognition alongside a trust in the reality that exceeds those limits. There’s a dynamic tension between immanence and transcendence, much like standing on solid ground while looking out into an endless sea.

Are you exploring Jaspers in a particular context, like existentialism, philosophy of religion, or perhaps his ideas on communication and truth?

Philosophy of religion

In the philosophy of religion, Jaspers’ concept of the Encompassing plays a fascinating role. Unlike traditional theological frameworks that might define God as a specific entity or personal being, Jaspers approaches ultimate reality with a kind of negative theology. The Encompassing resists objectification; it cannot be fully captured by religious dogma or doctrines.

For Jaspers, religious symbols, myths, and scriptures are not absolute truths but ciphers—they point beyond themselves to the ineffable Encompassing. This idea aligns with his broader existential project of transcending mere empirical or rational knowledge to encounter deeper truths through Existenz (authentic existence).

He also distinguishes between philosophical faith and revealed religion. While revealed religion often relies on concrete historical claims and institutional structures, Jaspers’ philosophical faith is more about an open, personal engagement with transcendence. It invites a kind of inward journey, where the individual encounters the mystery of being through existential experiences, such as suffering, love, guilt, and the “boundary situations” that confront us with our own limits.

How does this resonate with your own thinking about religion? Are you more interested in the mystical, existential, or perhaps ethical dimensions of Jaspers’ approach?

Does Jaspers’ have a particular take on ethics?

Yes, Jaspers’ approach to ethics is deeply intertwined with his existential and transcendental philosophy. Unlike systems of ethics that provide concrete rules or normative guidelines (like Kantian deontology or utilitarianism), Jaspers’ ethics are more about personal authenticity and the individual’s encounter with the Encompassing.

For Jaspers, true ethical action arises not from external prescriptions but from the inner freedom of Existenz. This involves a deep sense of responsibility, not just to concrete others but also to the transcendent dimension of life. His idea of communication is crucial here—genuine ethical life involves open, truthful dialogue that respects the other as a manifestation of the Encompassing.

Jaspers also emphasizes boundary situations—moments of crisis, suffering, or death—where ordinary ethical frameworks might fall short. In these moments, the individual is called to respond authentically, often without clear answers, guided instead by a kind of existential faith and openness to transcendence.

In the context of religion, his ethics lean towards a kind of existential humility. He cautions against absolutizing one’s own ethical or religious perspective and encourages a continual openness to other perspectives as ciphers of the Encompassing.

Does this align with what you’re looking for in ethical thought? Are you more interested in the personal, societal, or perhaps spiritual dimensions of ethics?

Regarding communication, does Jaspers’ “open truthful dialogue” connect with Levinas’ “ethical responsibility for the other”

Yes. There is a deep resonance between Jaspers’ concept of open, truthful dialogue and Emmanuel Levinas’ idea of ethical responsibility for the Other, though they approach it from different philosophical starting points.

For Jaspers, communication is not merely the exchange of information but a profound, existential encounter. Genuine communication (Existenzkommunikation) involves openness, honesty, and a willingness to transcend one’s own perspective. It is through this dialogical process that individuals can encounter the Encompassing and approach truth—not as a static possession but as a dynamic process.

Levinas, on the other hand, emphasizes the face-to-face encounter with the Other as the foundation of ethics. The face of the Other calls us into an ethical relationship, one that precedes rational thought or theoretical frameworks. For Levinas, this encounter demands an infinite responsibility—it is as if the Other’s vulnerability and alterity place an ethical claim upon us.

Where they converge is in the primacy of the encounter with the Other as a moment of transcendence. For both philosophers, this encounter breaks through the ego’s self-centeredness and opens the self to something beyond itself. Jaspers frames this in terms of communication with the Encompassing, while Levinas articulates it as an ethical demand that originates in the Other’s absolute difference.

However, they differ in tone and emphasis. Jaspers maintains a kind of mutuality in dialogue—each person is both speaker and listener, both revealing and discovering. Levinas, meanwhile, focuses more on the asymmetry of the ethical relationship, where the Other’s need or command takes precedence over the self’s freedom.

Are you exploring this connection in a particular context, like interfaith dialogue, ethical theory, or maybe a specific social issue?